


Din'an Hanin

by Rayduuu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Internal Conflict, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayduuu/pseuds/Rayduuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faced with the Elven ruins scattered throughout the Emerald Graves and the changes she has undergone since the day she stumbled from the Fade, Myriani Lavellan finds that her perceptions of "home" and "her people" are also changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Din'an Hanin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [N7Lavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=N7Lavellan).



> This was written as part of the [Dragon Age Fic Swap](http://daficswap.tumblr.com/) for [N7Lavellan](http://n7lavellan.tumblr.com/), featuring her lovely Inquisitor Myriani Lavellan.

Myriani sat at the edge of camp, away from the booming of Bull’s laughter, away from Dorian’s voice, smooth as it dripped with sarcasm, away from the Inquisition scouts that traveled with them and kept watch. Away, even after all this time, from the camaraderie of her companions.  The warmth of the fire barely reached her, even as the ruddy glow flickered in her large, blue eyes and made her pale hair seem red, but the night was warm and the fire and the people held no attraction for her. Not here, while the Emerald Graves pressed in around them.

It was beautiful and terrible. The further they traveled through Orlais, as the trees grew taller and thicker, coloring the world a deep green, the more numerous the ruins of her people became. The intricately wrought stone archways appeared as part of the nature around them rather than a construct of Dalish hands from so long ago, and the frequent appearance of red lyrium corruption alongside them was jarring and disturbing. Night had fallen as they approached Din’an Hanin and they made their camp near its walls. As she sat at the edge of camp, surrounded by those shems who she had come to trust and even love, she felt alone.

The dead were calling to her.

A quick glance around told her that no one would miss her for a while if she left quietly. She gripped her staff and slipped into the shadow of the trees, the forest quickly enveloping her. The thick foliage dampened the noise of the camp and she felt swaddled and comforted by the oppressive quiet. It didn’t take long to reach the tomb, this resting place of the Emerald Knights. She longed to enter, to pay her respects and drink in the history. Her time as Inquisitor had not, it seemed, diminished the sense of duty to her people’s history the years as First had ingrained in her. Her fingers trailed the walls as she walked, engrossed in her thoughts.

She missed her clan. There was nothing for it, she knew. The events since the destruction of Haven made it easier, sweeping her up in the horror of Corypheus. The Inquisition was important, defeating Corypheus was important, she had no choice. But, oh, how she longed to not be marked for this heavy responsibility.

“Inquisitor.”

She whipped around, staff in hand, lightning sparking across her skin, cursing herself for her distraction. Though pale in the dappled moonlight, she instantly relaxed at the flash of a red cloak.

“Cullen.”

He stepped into the clearing, his eyes moving over the ruins in quiet awe before resting on her. “I thought I would find you here.”

They had been making their way to the Shrine of Dumat in pursuit of Samson. It was a pleasant change to travel alongside Cullen, to fight with him and spend the nights with him. They had spent more time together this past week on the road than they ever managed to find at Skyhold.

She slung her staff back over her shoulder, shrugging and turning back toward the walls. “We’re traveling quickly through the area. There wouldn’t be any time to take a look around come daybreak and this place…” Her voice trailed away, not knowing the words that could explain what she was feeling.

“There is a lot of terrible history here.”

“Yes.”

He hesitated, unsure. “Would… would you like me to leave you?”

She shook her head. He approached her slowly, reaching for her, his arm sliding around her waist and pulling her to him. She breathed him in, his scent mixing with the scent of the Graves, but not clashing with it.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he murmured.

She leaned into him. Shemlen, she used to think of him. Templar. The very things she never thought she could come to love, and yet she felt more comfortable here in his arms than she had felt in ages. She looked back at the ruins of the tomb. It was old, crumbling. It was beautiful yet it was foreign. It spoke of a time that was unknown to her. ‘Dalish’ called up images of wooden aravels, the sweet smell of halla, of constant motion, making their home in whatever woods they stopped in. Her people mourned this lost world of grand structures and permanence, but it was not home. Not  _her_  home. And yet, the more time she spent away from clan Lavellan, the less even those aravels felt like home.

Home was here, in the arms of this gentle, strong, determined, slightly awkward man.

“Everything has changed,” she said, turning away completely from the ruins. She buried her face in his chest, reveling in the strength of his presence. “But I think I’m finally realizing that I’m ok with that.”

His fingers ran through her hair, down her back, soothing and loving. Her face turned up, her lips asking for his, and he obliged. She pulled away slightly, searching his face, seeing his concern. She smiled at him, touching the roughness of his cheek. “Come,” she said, pulling away. “Let’s go back to camp. I’ll tell you everything I know about the Emerald Graves.”

“I would love that,” he said, and she knew he truly would because it was  _her_ history, and he cared, and she loved him for it.

 _I’m still Dalish,_  she thought as she led him back to their camp, back to the Inquisition and her companions who had become her friends.  _I must keep and carry my people, but I’m so much more than my people’s bloody history. It isn’t all of who I am anymore, and it’s alright._

_Because I’m not alone._

**Author's Note:**

> I had a blast writing this. Myriani's personality took over and I couldn't help diving into it. The one thing I never got a chance to explore with Amarië, my own Inquisitor and a warrior, is the conflict that a First feels. A First Inquisitor essentially abandons their clan and their future as Keeper to take on the responsibilities of the Inquisition. Everyone has a different headcanon as to how clan Lavellan is affected by this, but it's certainly no insignificant event. That, combined with the unsettling discoveries about the Elvhen that all Dalish Inquisitors discover throughout the game, makes for some pretty interesting internal conflicts and character growth.
> 
> Elves elves elves. Elves all freaking day. I love it.


End file.
